Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

TOM ALMOST LANDED /A/ THE D/SH-PAA! / 1 . "If you don't fix this clogged drain," storms Mrs. Tom Burch, "you're going to be in the dishwashing business!" 3. Down the drain goes Drano! It digs out all the clogging grease and muck — gives a clear, free-flowing drain! 2. "Huh? Who, me?" blinks Tom. "Wait! Wait! I'll go and get some Drano!" 4. "Thar she flows!" boasts Tom. "Now use a teaspoonful each night— and keep the drain clean!" Copr. 1939, The Drackett Co. P.S. After the dishes — use a teaspoonful of Drano — to guard against clogged drains. Never over 25£ at grocery, drug, hardware stores. Drano USE DRANO DAILY TO KEEP DRAINS CLEAN CLEANS CLOGGED DRAINS HOW TO KEEP BABY WELL— • The U. S. Government's Children's Bureau has published a complete 138-page book^ "Infant Care" especially for young mothers, and authorizes this magazine to accept readers' orders. Written by five of the country's leading child specialists, this book is plainly written well illustrated, and gives any mother a wealth of authoritative information on baby's health and baby's growth. This magazine makes no profit whatever on your order, sends your money direct to Washington. Send 10 cents, wrapping coins or stamps safely, to Readers' Service Bureau, RADIO & TELEVISION MIRROR 205 East 42nd Street, Dept. F-l, New York. N. Y. Are your hands DRY and "scratchy?" Regular use of Italian Halm will help correct this condition almost at once. This famous SKIN SOFTENER furnishes moisture and soothing agents which promote softness, smoothness, [beauty. Italian Balm's scientific, soothing properties will amaze Only 10£, 20jft, 35ji, 60f< and #1.00 a I toilet goods counters. you. Un bottle— i Italian Balm Over 90 Million Bottles Sold fell like a bombshell into the Gate director's brain. "The Theater Guild!" His voice was suddenly respectful, almost hushed. "In New York. But Mr. Welles— this is indeed an honor. A real honor. I am afraid our poor production tonight . . ." He bowed, apologizing, almost stammering with awe of a man from the Theater Guild in New York. It was too late to deny that foolish lie. Before he knew what he had done, Orson was promising to consider a few guest appearances with the company before his return to America. The only acting experience he had ever had were those school-boy roles at Woodstock, Illinois, in "Julius Caesar." It is all a little incredible, no doubt, to those who do not know Orson Welles. To those who know him, it is perfectly understandable that in a day and a half of study and practice before the mirror in his Connemara friend's room, he should learn the part of the Archduke in Feuchtwanger's "Jew Suss." It is also understandable that at seventeen he should play the role of a middle-aged man, a bearded man, tall, broad-shouldered, majestic, with a deep resonant voice. Orson Welles still looks like a boy in his pictures. But on the stage he can look like an old man and on the air he can sound like a sage of eighty-five. His voice, at seventeen, was as basso profundo as it is now. He was bearded, tanned, weathered from his wanderings. T.WO nights after his arrival in Dublin, he walked out on the Gate Theater stage, dressed in the regalia of the Archduke. The house was packed with people. Hundreds had come to see the American star from the Theater Guild in New York. When he walked out before those footlights, he knew that every eye in the audience was upon him — watching to see the qualities which had made him famous. He was trembling inside. But there was something about the glare of those footlights he could not deny — something wild and proud and joyful that shot up within him, as he looked out for a breath over that dark sea of silent faces. He knew it for the first time — the thrill a man feels only once in his life — the thrill that comes when a man knows he has found the thing he has been seeking. He had not known it until this very moment, but he knew it now for sure. Come what may, he was going to be an actor. But between the decision to be an actor, and its accomplishment, there were to be many adventures, many black and lonely and thwarted intervals— as well as some times which for sheer melodrama rivalled anything ever put on a stage. Follow the completely incredible story of Orson Welles in next month's issue of Radio Mirror. NEXT MONTH You'll meet Judy Garland — first, in a beautiful cover portrait — and then in an intimate story about her — in the December issue 58 RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR